


What Happens in Vegas

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Amaya Jiwe is Important, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Casinos, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: Mick meets a past version of his partner. Len catches him staring.Mick will take what he can get.





	What Happens in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, only that I feel the need to apologize. Because there is no happy ending here.

_"Let me photograph you in this light  
__in case it is the last time that we might_  
_be exactly like we were..."_

―Adele

* * *

Vegas, 2005: a renegade bounty hunter plans a job. Fortunately, they're not from the fallen Time Masters. Unfortunately, they've chosen the middle of July and the Bellagio.

Not that Mick remembers until he sees Len at a blackjack table. His memory's still a little screwy from the Vanishing Point, and they hadn't been here for a job. That came in August, which is why he hadn't said anything about bein' sent out as a waiter for recon. No, this was just for fun, until Len saw a pretty thing and started his meticulous planning. Mick'd wanted to go to Vegas for forever, and their last score gave Len the incentive.

Now Mick's standing there like an idiot staring at an early 30's Leonard Snart like he's seein' the sky open up. Some rich guy takes a couple cocktails from his tray, and his snide remarks about service are lost on him.

"Mick, what are you doing?" Sara hisses in his comm.

Mick mumbles something.

"What?"

"Snart. Snart's―he's here. Past him. Forgot―"

Len senses eyes on him. Mick ducks into the crowd before he can cast a subtle eye about the room.

"I see him," Ray says. He sounds half-amazed, half-worried. "Are you sure it's past him? Like, really past him, not, y'know―"

"I think I'd know the difference, Haircut," Mick grinds out.

"You didn't seem to know last time," Nate says.

Mick feels his shoulder slump and thinks he should be angry. But lately he just feels tired. "Point is, I can't be here. Past-me's around somewhere. I'd say the slots."

"Get back to the ship," Sara orders, "we'll take care of the hunter."

"Probably would've caused a fight anyway," Nate says.

Mick slips out no problem. Thieving's left him with an easy kind of stealth, and Chronos―not gonna think about that. Damn, he needs a drink. Maybe there's a bar around here his past self hasn't hit yet.

"Thought you were at the slots."

...in hindsight, he shouldn't be surprised.

"What's with the get-up?" Len asks. He looks good, all dressed up in his dark blue suit and black tie. His hair's darker too. "Mick?"

Mick blinks. "Uh. Just―wanted to hit some other bars."

"Thought we were gonna do that together."

A test. Why is Len testing him? Maybe he can tell Mick's a whole lot different from the one inside. "Since when?"

Len quietly breathes out. Passed. "Since I cleaned out a buncha CEOs. C'mon."

Mick shouldn't be doing this. This is the worst idea. But he can't stop his feet from following Len. Everything feels a little far away, like he's walking in a dream, and all he can do is look at the back of his partner's head and ask which place they're hittin' first.

"One of the waitresses told me about a place," Len says. He leads Mick down the strip the way he always does―did―like a king surveying his kingdom. The world's a stage, that's what he used to say. Somethin' about an omelette after that.

Mick swallows past a dry mouth. His fingers are gettin' twitchy. He doesn't understand why until Len leads them into an alley and pushes him against the wall and he gets to  _touch_.

Len's hot from the cards and summer heat. He likes his suit, but now Mick's remembering that the jacket disappeared before the night was through. Or maybe it's a new memory, and the timeline's changing. Either way, the thing's thrown on the ground and Len's whispering in his ear and―and Mick is a  _mess_ , they've barely kissed, but he's a fucking wreck―

"Let me," he growls, and yanks them deeper into the alley, jacket in hand. He shoves Len back and folds the jacket between them.

Len's smirk is shadowed under the lights like a damn sculpture. Only this one's alive, breathing, and saying his name in that little kitten purr Mick thought he'd never hear again. His insides are scraping against each other, every hurt and memory screaming at him. This is why he hates feelings.

He works Len's pants open and swallows him down. Len's startled moan stitches a couple spots of Mick's fucking bleeding heart.

"Didn't―know you could do that," he murmurs, squeezing the back of Mick's neck. And his Mick definitely can't deep throat to save his life. He needs a few more years of practice.

Huh. No wonder Len'd always acted so weird when Mick blew him.

Or maybe those are more memories that shouldn't be there.

Mick looks up at Len's face. He soaks in the way those pretty lips part just enough to whisper his name, the way those eyelashes dust porcelain cheekbones when they bat at him, the way those fingers scrape mildly against his skin, insistent without hurting. This Len doesn't want to hurt Mick. This Len's never seen him burn, never held a cold gun, never shot him, never―

The team's snapping in his ear. Mick tongues Len's slit and yanks out his earpiece.

Len grunts. "What was that?"

"M'squito," Mick mumbles, and gets back to work.

Len bites his lip and slumps against the wall, settling his hands on Mick's shoulders like he trusts Mick and Mick alone to hold him up. Another low noise escapes his pretty mouth.

Mick pulls off and buries his nose in Len's skin. He takes a long drag. Fucking amazing.

"C'mon, Lenny," he says, "do it. Know y'wanna."

Len's fingers arch into claws. "Sure?"

" _Yeah_." Fuck, that came out more desperate than Mick wanted.

But Len ignores it in favor of yanking him back around his cock. Mick breathes out, relaxes his jaw, and like a thrown switch, Len starts fucking his mouth.

" _Fuck_ , Mick," he hisses, "you're fucking―how did you―" Mick hums, and he jackknifes to the back of his throat. " _F_ _uck_!"

Mick cups his ass and squeezes. Len always makes a little high-pitched sound. Adorable as it is hot as fuck. He tongues at Len's cock just like he likes it, adding to the obscene slurping noises filling their little corner.

"C'n you―" Len cuts himself off with a groan. "C'n you―"

Mick hums again.

"Oh,  _fuck_ yeah."

Len keeps hittin' the back of his throat, hittin' and hittin' and Mick sits there takin' it like he's swallowing ambrosia. It's almost funny how fast Len devolves into a slurring mantra of Mick's name and filling his mouth with hot spurts. His face when he comes hasn't changed, though this time he looks almost shocked.

Mick wants to laugh.

"Fuckin'  _look_ at yah," Len rasps, petting Mick's head, "takin' it all. Where'd'yah learn thi- _i_ -s?" 

Mick leaves him with a final long lick. "Ain't tellin'."

Shit, his voice is _destroyed_. Len's pupils can't get any bigger.

Mick stands. "Not like you t'be all spontaneous. What brought this on?"

Len's smirk comes back like a happy drunk. "You ain't complainin'."

Mick snorts. "Never. Just wonderin'."

Len shrugs. "Can't remember havin' a vacation like this." He jerks his head at the gleaming palaces. "All fancy and just for us. Might as well have fun."

Mick grins. "Well, this fun I can get used to."

Then they kinda just―look at each other a bit.

"You okay?" Len asks.

"I got blue balls."

But Len's not smilin' anymore. "I don't mean that. You seem―I dunno." His eyes narrow. "Do I need to ice somebody?"

Wow. Time travel gives you  _all_ the inside jokes. "Nah. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

Mick traces his jaw, hesitantly at first, until Len makes a show of letting him. His chest loosens.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "yeah, I'm okay."

Len cups the back of his head again and pulls him into a kiss. It's one of the unhurried ones―the ones Len uses when he wants to turn Mick into fucking putty. They always work like a charm, especially now, when. Well. Let's just say Mick needs one or two of 'em.

Len's other hand crawls down to his belt. "Still feelin' blue?"

Mick smiles again. He doesn't know if he'll be able to stop this one. " _Nerd_."

 

Eventually, they have to leave the alley. Len goes first. Mick drags his feet behind, grief twisting everything up again, only it's  _worse_ , because he's gotten another taste of what he can't have. It's 2013 a hundred times over.

"Hey, Len?"

Len turns. "Yeah?"

Mick looks at him. Tells his shitty memory to get this right, to catch the lights of Vegas reflecting in Len's eyes, the blood rushing to his cheeks with the heat, the rise and fall of his chest.

"I..."

If nothing else, he has to get  _this_ picture right. And he has to―he has to tell him―tell him that―

"I'm...gonna head back to the slots."

Len tilts his head. "Thought we were gonna get drinks."

"I think I got enough to drink." He tries for a smirk.

Len snuffles a laugh. Then he's got that searching look back. "You still seem off."

"I'm fine, mother hen. Damn slot machine's just frustratin' is all."

"So naturally you're gonna go back to 'em."

Mick tries for a grin this time. "You know me."

Len bumps shoulders. "I'll head back to the card tables then. Maybe I'll buy yah somethin' pretty to make up for your losses."

"Hey, I'm gonna win this time!"

"Uh-huh."

White flashes in the corner of Mick's eye.

"...Mick?"

Mick shakes his head. He squeezes Len's arm, solid and warm and―he lets go.

"See yah later, Snart."

They reenter the casino. Mick braces himself and puts his back to his partner.

 

The silence is made louder by the snap of Sara's jaws. Mick'd been in for it this time, and once again, the whole team joined in. Ray and Jax offered sympathy, saying he knew how Mick felt, how he wanted Snart back too. Sara said the same, but with a few choice words about letting his feelings get in the way of screwing up the timeline. Stein pointed out that he should've been supervised from the start. Nate agreeing with the professor.

The only person who hadn't said a word was―

"You looked happy," Amaya says.

Mick raises his eyebrow at her. "What're you talkin' about?"

Amaya smiles gently. "I saw you with him. You looked happy. There was a strength in you, as if his presence was a pillar."

Mick's fists clench.

"Seeing him―the real him―" her smile shrinks. "It's not hard to see how much you love him. That kind of trust is hard to find."

Mick puts his head down and storms off.

He gets hammered and passes out next to his punching bag.

 


End file.
